Kiss Me Deadly

Well, as I enter deep into the zone and am slowly consumed by the writing of the third Jack Susko mystery, my daily intake of sustenance turns completely noir. And before bed, it usually involves a movie: last night, it was KISS ME DEADLY (1955). I’m a big fan of re-reading great books and the same idea goes for films. So this was the third time I’d watched it…and the third time I’d come to the conclusion that this is quite possibly the greatest American film ever made.

The opening scene: a beautiful woman running barefoot down a road in the middle of the night. She’s panting, crying, struggling, desperate. Nobody will pull over to pick her up. Finally she stops and stands with her arms up and forces a car to swerve off the road. The guy is pissed off but gives her a lift. They’re away. And so are we.

It’s disconcerting from the start. Her panting and crying continues over the introductory credits as the car roars down the road, and I hope its not just me who thinks this, but she sounds like she’s building up to an orgasm rather than full of fear. It goes on for a while. As she calms down and the dialogue begins, we find out that she’s just escaped from “…the laughing house.” Her exchange with the driver is fragmented and strange, almost unlikely yet somehow perfect, and the guy can believe she’s a loony. A lunatic named after the poet Christina Rossetti. They are after her. And soon enough, they are after him, too.

It’s all uneasy, strange, the whole experience is surreal, and yet rooted in a post-war Los Angeles that is very real, full of low-life’s and migrants and the constant sound of traffic. 1950’s America on the move. Some destined to make the dream, some to fall off and be swept away in the wake. Mike Hammer, the guy in the car (played brilliantly by Ralph Meeker), is a hard, vain, shallow private eye who does divorce cases and likes sports cars. He ain’t going overboard, man, no way. His whole existence resonates with the cry: I’m me. Not one of the masses that flood the streets. But as the story unfolds, the realisation that he is just one of the powerless jetsam takes hold and gradually messes up his hair and skews his tie and bruises his body. The world is corrupt and full of lies, even more than he ever thought. His struggle for ‘the big score’ becomes a quest for the girl from the laughing house, murdered by them. To avenge her. To remember her. Because that’s the only way we can really be saved from obscurity and nothingness. And just maybe, some day, somebody might remember him, too…

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

(Remember by Christina Rossetti)